Fallen Angels

by Tara Hyland

  Cara shuddered. She’d taken her turn in there. It was one of the worst punishments: to be locked in the small cellar, with no light and nothing other than water for hours at a time.

  First thing in the morning, all the girls were called into the main hall. Molly and the two other escapees stood on the stage, trying their best to look defiant. As Sister Concepta and Sister Jude walked out, the girls’ expressions faltered. The Mother Superior took centre stage.

  ‘As you are all aware,’ she began gravely, ‘these three ungrateful children repaid our hospitality by sneaking out of here yesterday. You are here to witness their punishment.’ She turned to the girls. ‘Molly!’ Sister Concepta commanded. ‘Step forward.’

  Holding her head high, Molly did as she was told. Along with all the other girls in the hall, she was clearly expecting to receive a public beating. But instead, Sister Concepta produced a large pair of garden shears. A gasp of surprise and faint protest echoed through the hall as she proceeded to hack off the girl’s hair. Lock after lock fell to the floor, until Molly – never the most attractive of girls anyway – stood there, almost bald, with just a few haphazard tufts of hair sticking out of her head. Realising their fate, the other two runaways began to cry.

  ‘See?’ Sister Concepta proclaimed gravely, as she started in on the next girl. ‘This is what happens to those of you who disobey us.’

  As they were shorn of their hair, too, even the hardiest girls in the audience had to look away.

  The whole shearing took fifteen minutes, but Sister Concepta made the girls stand there for another half an hour so everyone could witness their humiliation. Niamh was shaking with fear as they eventually trickled out of the hall.

  ‘What’s wrong?’ Cara said in a low voice as they headed to breakfast.

  The other girl’s hand went instinctively to her head. ‘I couldn’t stand it, if that happened to me,’ she whispered back.

  Cara knew why she was worried. Sister Concepta was itching to cut off Niamh’s beautiful hair. That was why the girl tried to keep it hidden from view. Adept at staying out of trouble, she made sure not to give the nuns any reason to punish her. But she still feared what would happen if they ever did.

  A few weeks later, one Monday afternoon in the midst of summer, Cara was outside the kitchens, emptying dirty water down the drain, when she heard someone calling her name. She looked up to see Niamh running towards her, looking breathless and worried.

  ‘Whatever’s the matter?’ she asked, as the other girl drew level.

  ‘Oh Cara,’ she panted, holding her left side, as though she had a stitch. ‘I’ve done a terrible thing.’

  It turned out that some of the girls, tired of Niamh being such a goody-goody, had dared her to sneak outside and steal half a dozen apples from the orchard adjacent to the orphanage. A fence separated St Mary’s from the farmland, and there was a loose piece of wood in it, so small that the nuns hadn’t bothered to have it repaired. Few of the girls could have got through there – but Niamh, small-boned and flexible, was just about able to squeeze between the slats.

  She had thought she could sneak in and out without the farmer, Dennis Brennan, ever realising that she was there. Everything had been going well, and she had collected about a dozen apples in her apron, when the farmer came out from one of the barns and spotted her. Dropping her bounty, Niamh had managed to quickly shin down the tree and run back towards the orphanage. He’d given chase, shouting and cursing at her all the way, but she’d managed to slip through the gap in the fence before he could catch her.

  ‘What if he saw my face?’ she fretted now. ‘He might tell the Sisters, and then what’ll happen to me?’

  Wanting to reassure her friend, Cara said, ‘I’m sure it’ll be fine. He probably won’t even bother saying anything.’

  But there was no conviction in her voice. Dennis Brennan was known to be a stickler for order and obedience. He wasn’t the type to let this go.

  Unfortunately, Cara was right. Later that afternoon, Sister Concepta called all the girls into the assembly hall, where they were made to stand and wait in silence. The room was boiling, as the windows were all closed, and none of the girls dared go over to open them. They had been on their feet for nearly half an hour, none of them even daring to talk, when the doors finally burst open and Sister Concepta walked in – accompanied by Dennis Brennan. As soon as she saw him, Cara could feel Niamh falter next to her. She reached an arm around her friend’s waist to hold her up.

  ‘Now,’ Sister Concepta began, once she’d taken her place on stage. ‘Who can tell me what the Seventh Commandment is?’

  The assembled girls answered sluggishly: ‘Thou shalt not steal.’

  The nun nodded. ‘Exactly. So then why is it that Mr Brennan here tells me that one of you ventured over to his farm to steal from him?’

  This time, there was silence.

  ‘If someone doesn’t own up,’ Sister Concepta said, her tone deceptively mild, ‘then I’ll simply punish you all. There will be no going into town on Saturdays for the next six months.’

  Cara knew then what was going to happen next. Niamh would confess; she’d never let everyone be punished for what she’d done. Then Sister Concepta would use this as her excuse to chop off her lovely hair. Cara couldn’t let the nun do that to her friend, so before Niamh could say anything, she put her hand up and said, ‘It was me, Sister. I was the one who stole the apples.’

  Sister Concepta glowered down at her. ‘Cara Healey,’ she thundered. ‘I should have guessed.’ She looked over at the farmer. ‘This girl’s a troublemaker, and trust me she will be punished.’ Then the nun turned back to Cara, her eyes glittering with malice. ‘Come up here.’

  Walking up onto the stage, Cara tried not to show her fear as Sister Jude went to fetch the shears. As Sister Concepta began to hack off her hair, Cara forced herself to stare defiantly ahead, and meeting Niamh’s eyes, she saw her friend’s gratitude and felt strength run through her. It helped her not to cry, even as the sharp blades grazed her scalp.

  The dorm lights were out, and Cara was nearly asleep when she felt someone come to sit on her bed. Opening her eyes, she saw it was Niamh. In her hands, she carried two apples.

  ‘I had these in my pockets still,’ she whispered, holding one out for Cara.

  Without speaking another word, the two of them bit into the forbidden fruit. They both took small bites, trying to crunch as quietly as possible, so as not to wake the other girls. When they’d finished, Niamh wrapped the cores in a tissue, promising to get rid of them the next day, so there would be no evidence of their illicit midnight feast.

  She was about to leave, when she turned to Cara and said, ‘Thank you for what you did for me today.’ She reached out and touched the black tufts of hair, her hands running gently over Cara’s sore head. ‘I don’t know how I could ever repay you.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it.’ Cara looked away, embarrassed by Niamh’s obvious gratitude and hero-worship. ‘It was nothing.’

  Niamh cupped her friend’s chin in her hand, gently turning Cara’s face towards her, so their gazes met. ‘No,’ she said solemnly. ‘It was everything.’

  Then, as though it was the most natural thing in the world, she leaned forward and kissed Cara tenderly on the lips.

  It was a soft, sweet kiss, tasting of stolen apples and gratitude. And, as with everything Niamh did, there was a complete innocence about it.

  Finally, Niamh pulled away. The two girls stared at each other for a long moment.

  ‘Thank you again,’ Niamh murmured. Then she slipped from Cara’s bed and padded across to her own.

  Neither of them ever mentioned the incident again, nor was there ever a repeat of it. But the kiss that night sealed their friendship.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  ‘Good news, Cara!’ Sister Agnes exclaimed. She had pulled the girl out of formation as the children were filing into hall for breakfast, and whatever it was about, she seemed genuinely excited
for her favourite charge. ‘I’ve got a treat for you this weekend.’

  Cara listened as Sister Agnes explained the reason behind her enthusiasm. It was to do with the Buchanans, a wealthy young Anglo-Irish couple, who lived in the Big House just outside town. James Buchanan had fought in the British Army, before becoming a diplomat and travelling the world, while his wife, Virginia, was the daughter of a landed gentleman, and well-known in London society circles. After a year-long posting in India, they had recently moved back to James’s mother’s family home. He had taken up an hereditary seat in the House of Lords, which would entail occasional trips to England, but for the most part, the Buchanans would now be permanently based in Galway. The couple were interested in becoming involved in the local community. Sadly, they hadn’t been blessed with children of their own and, having heard about the orphanage, they had decided to invite one of the girls to spend the weekend with them.

  Sister Agnes beamed at Cara. ‘So I’ve decided to send you. As long as you’d like to go, that is?’

  ‘Of course I would!’

  The nun’s excitement was infectious. Cara hurried back to tell the others. A treat like this happened from time to time. Generous families would agree to take the orphans out for a weekend, or would come to visit them. Usually once they had met a girl, they would stick with her, taking the same child out again and again. So far, Cara had never been chosen to go, because Sister Concepta was in charge of making the selection. But as she was away at the moment, having taken the elderly and sick nuns on a pilgrimage to Lourdes, the task had fallen to Sister Agnes, and she had decided that Cara should be the one allowed to go with the Buchanans.

  It was October 1961, nearly five months since the apple-stealing incident. After the low point of having her head shaved, life had improved for Cara over the past few weeks with Sister Concepta’s absence. While her hair still hadn’t grown back properly, and stuck out in uneven black tufts all over her head, it at least covered her scalp and looked respectable enough for her to be seen in public without feeling ashamed. This opportunity to leave the orphanage for the weekend was the icing on the cake.

  The other girls were pleased for her, if a little envious. They all saw the Big House on their way to church on a Sunday, and each of them would have loved to be the one selected to go there.

  Niamh was her usual fanciful self. ‘Maybe they’ll like you so much that they’ll ask you to come and live with them,’ she said dreamily.

  Cara snorted. ‘Yeah, I can see that happening. I’m ripe for a fairytale ending.’

  But, although she’d die before admitting it, the thought had crossed her mind. Imagine – getting out of here for good. Maybe she could even persuade them to take Niamh, too . . .

  That night, Cara sent up a special little prayer, asking God to make the Buchanans fall in love with her and take her away from St Mary’s.

  She spent the next few days looking forward to the following weekend. But late on Friday, just when she had everything packed, Sister Agnes came to tell her that the Buchanans had been called away to London, and so she wouldn’t be going anywhere after all.

  ‘Cheer up,’ the nun said, seeing how disheartened Cara was. ‘They’ll be back next weekend, and you’ll get to go then.’

  Unfortunately, on the following Friday morning, Sister Concepta arrived back early from her trip. Cara was in her Geography lesson when she saw the nun walking across the tarmac into the main building. Immediately, she got a sinking feeling. There was no way the older nun would let her go to the Buchanans’.

  Sure enough, after lessons that day, just as Cara was about to go and pack, Sister Concepta came into the classroom, along with Sister Agnes.

  ‘So, Cara,’ Sister Concepta began. ‘I hear that you’re meant to be leaving us for the next two days—’

  ‘Yes, I am,’ Cara burst out, already certain she knew where this was going. ‘And it’s not fair of you to stop me going!’ She banged her fist on the desk. ‘God damn you!’ she swore, drawing a gasp from the room. ‘Why do you have to make my life such a misery all the time?’

  Cara wasn’t aware of how aggressive she sounded until Sister Agnes put a restraining hand on her arm.

  ‘Cara, please,’ she hushed, her eyes pleading. She looked over at Sister Concepta. ‘I’m sorry, Sister. She didn’t mean it.’

  But the older nun ignored her deputy. ‘Actually,’ she said to Cara, ‘I had just come in here to remind you to be on your best behaviour this weekend. But I think after that little display it would be inappropriate for you to go to the Buchanans’.’

  Cara was speechless with anger. She’d played right into the nun’s hands. Sister Concepta hadn’t any intention of allowing her to go this weekend. She’d just been looking for an excuse to take this away from her. And Cara had given it to her.

  Sister Agnes looked distressed on Cara’s behalf. ‘But they’ll be here to collect her soon. Should I just tell them that we won’t be sending anyone?’

  ‘Oh, no. We’ll still send someone. There’s no point denying another girl a treat just because one spoils it.’ Sister Concepta’s eyes surveyed the room. ‘So, I’m looking for volunteers. Who would like to go?’

  The girls hesitated. Cara was popular among them, because she stood up to the nuns, but there could be no loyalty here – it was every girl for herself. Slowly, they all raised their hands.

  The nun’s eyes settled on Niamh. She alone had remained loyal and not volunteered to take Cara’s place. Sister Concepta’s mouth turned up in a cruel smile.

  ‘I think Niamh should go instead.’

  It was the ultimate twist and, Cara suspected, a way to divide the two girls, who were known for being inseparable. Sister Concepta no doubt didn’t want to see either of them going to stay with the Buchanans, but while she might dislike Niamh, she detested Cara with a passion.

  Once the nuns had gone and the crowd had dispersed, Niamh rushed to her friend.

  ‘I’m really sorry. Do you mind terribly?’

  Cara forced herself to shrug, pretending not to care. ‘Why should I?’ She was damned if she was going to cry over this. She needed to be tough, not show anyone that they’d got to her. It was the only way to survive.

  But Niamh wasn’t so easily fooled. ‘I could speak to Sister Agnes, tell her that I don’t want to go.’

  ‘What’s the point? Sister Concepta will just send someone else.’

  Niamh bit her lip. Even the usually positive younger girl couldn’t deny the inevitable truth of the situation, however unfair it might be.

  Cara got up to head back to the dorm, wanting to be alone so she could pull herself together. Not taking the hint, Niamh followed her.

  ‘Maybe I can go to see Sister Concepta,’ she persisted, clearly still trying to come up with ways to resolve the situation. ‘I could try to reason with her. Or maybe I could tell the Buchanans what happened. If I explain what Sister’s like, then maybe they could insist that you come out next time. Sister Concepta would have to listen then.’

  Cara rounded on her. ‘God, would you ever leave me alone?’ she snapped. ‘I’m sick of you trailing around after me. Haven’t you got something else to do?’

  Niamh recoiled at Cara’s words. ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured, dropping her eyes to disguise the hurt. But she did as Cara had asked and went into the dorm alone.

  Cara lay on her bed, pretending not to watch her friend pack. She regretted her harsh words and knew that she ought to apologise. The unfairness of the situation was hardly Niamh’s fault, after all; she was as much a victim of Sister Concepta as Cara herself. But something stopped Cara. She was jealous, that was it. Even though she knew that’s what Concepta had wanted, to drive a wedge between them, she couldn’t help how she felt. She’d been looking forward to the weekend with the Buchanans, and had spent the last few days imagining what it would be like to get away from these walls. To have that snatched away at such a late stage was devastating, and her adolescent brain wasn’t developed
enough to manage magnanimity in the face of such disappointment.

  Half an hour later, Niamh came over to see her.

  ‘I’m heading off now.’

  ‘Right,’ Cara said shortly, not even bothering to look up from the book she was reading. She could see that her friend was near to tears, but she couldn’t bring herself to comfort her.

  By Sunday night, Cara had calmed down. In fact, over the course of the weekend, she’d realised just how much she missed her friend. It had been a stupid fight, and she wanted to make up with Niamh as soon as possible.

  Niamh was due to be dropped off by the Buchanans just before teatime. Cara stood by the window of their dorm, watching out for her return. When she saw the Buchanans’ car draw up, she felt a surge of excitement and waited impatiently for her friend to come up. As Niamh appeared in the doorway, Cara wanted to rush up to her, but she wasn’t the tactile sort. Instead, she waited for Niamh to approach her – big expressions of emotion were much more her sort of thing. But rather than coming over, Niamh went to her own cubicle and began to unpack.

  She must think I’m still angry with her, Cara realised. So she got up and went over to the blonde girl.

  ‘How was it?’ she asked gruffly.

  Niamh didn’t look up from her task. ‘It was fine.’

  The reticence was so out of character that Cara gave a theatrical sigh.

  ‘It’s all right, you can tell me about it. I won’t be jealous, I promise.’ She sat down on Niamh’s bed. ‘Really, I want to hear everything you did.’

  But Niamh wouldn’t meet her eye. ‘Maybe tomorrow. I’m tired now. I just want to go to bed.’

  Cara stared in surprise, feeling peeved by the lack of response.

  ‘All right, then.’ She got up. ‘Be like that.’

  Niamh didn’t answer. As Cara walked away, she pondered her friend’s behaviour. The only explanation she could come up with was that the other girl was still cross about how she’d behaved towards her on Friday, but Cara would be surprised if she bore a grudge. It wasn’t like her. Maybe she was just tired. Perhaps tomorrow she’d be in a better mood.